IN RECENT YEARS, as my mom’s health declined, I considered how I would feel when she was gone, when Mother’s Day would come and go without her. Now, four months after her death, I understand. I feel a deep sense of loss, but also thankfulness for the mother I loved and who loved me.
Who was my mom? She was the oldest of five. (Her sister Deloris died in infancy.) She was valedictorian of her high school graduating class. She completed a short business college course thereafter and worked in an employment office before marrying my dad. Within a year of their marriage, the first of six children was born. I came next. And within two months of my birth, Mom’s mother died. Mom was 24, her mother only 48.
When I consider Grandma Josephine’s premature death, I wonder how Mom handled that. To lose her mother at such a young age is a profound loss. If only I had asked.
Mom left behind a collection of notebooks in which she wrote daily entries. Journals begun in high school and continuing into her senior years. The short entries are documentations of her life from student to full-time mother/southwestern Minnesota farm wife and, finally, a grandmother.
I wish her writing held personal thoughts and observations. But that is mostly missing, along with journals from around the years she met Dad. Not a surprise given that generation’s aversion to expressing emotions. I don’t recall either of my parents ever telling me they loved me, or hugging me, during my growing up years. It just wasn’t done. Yet, I inherently knew they loved me. Only in later years, long after I’d left home, did love-filled words and hugs come.
Since my mom’s death, I’ve dipped into some of her journals as has my eldest daughter. Mom’s one-paragraph daily entries about the weather, everyday farm life and the occasional trips into town and social outings reveal a hardworking woman. I never doubted just how hard Mom worked to keep our family fed, the house clean and six kids in line. I read of gardening, harvesting, preserving. I read of doing laundry (in a Maytag wringer washer), ironing, folding clothes. I read of endless baking, including occasionally making her favorite Sour Cream Raisin Pie. To this day I have never developed an appreciation for that pie. But I loved when she baked homemade bread, shaping tiny buns just for us kids to eat hot from the oven.
I also appreciated that Mom made birthdays special by creating animal-shaped birthday cakes from homemade chocolate cake and seven-minute frosting. Those cakes, selected from a cake design booklet, defined our childhood birthdays. Because my parents couldn’t afford gifts, Mom’s cake was our gift. Oh, the memories.
That I never realized our family was poor is a credit to my mom. There was no emphasis on material possessions, but rather on self-sufficiency and contentment with what we had—each other and land, our land, all around us. Sure, I occasionally longed for rollerskates (like my friends Jane and Robin had), for shopping clothing racks other than the sales rack, for getting whatever toy I wanted from the Sears & Roebuck Christmas catalog. But, in the end, I didn’t care all that much. I had enough. I still do. And I still don’t get gifts on my birthday.
Mom’s gifts to me stretch well beyond anything tangible. She exuded a spirit of kindness. Soft-spoken, except when we kids occasionally overwhelmed her, Mom always encouraged us to speak well of others, to serve with humility. She did. At church, in the community. I’ve been told she was much like her sweet and loving mother, my Grandma Josie.
This Mother’s Day I hold onto the memories. The photos. The stack of journals. The lessons and qualities passed along to me that speak to a legacy of faith and kindness and love. Mom’s love. A love that endures in how I choose to live my life. A love that rises above grief to remind me how blessed I was to have my mother as my mother.
In my last visit with Mom before her January 13 death, I said my goodbyes, told her it was OK to go. She was mostly unresponsive then, heavily-medicated. But when I spoke the words, “I love you,” for the final time, her lips curved into a smile so slight I wondered if I imagined it. I didn’t. That was her final gift to me—an expression of love I will forever remember and cherish, especially today, my first Mother’s Day without Mom.
© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
❤️❤️❤️
Thank you, Beth. I feel your compassion, understanding and love.
A lovely tribute to your dear mother. ❤️
Thank you, dear Ruth.
So very beautifully said Audrey. Many of us can relate. Happy Mother and Grandmother’s Day.
Thank you, Virgil. It’s good to hear from you.
Okay – never heard of a Sour Cream Raisin Pie – have to share the recipe. Your mom’s animal shape cakes – one of my favorite memories that you have shared of her 🙂 Your last paragraph makes me weepy and happy at the same time – such a treasure, lived and remarkable person your mom. My parents made sure we had what we needed too and I am still frugal today and appreciate that they taught me that. Happy Mother’s Day to All the Mom’s Out There (((((loveandhugs)))))
Thank you for your appreciative words, love and support, Renee. I feel such a kinship with you in the ways we were raised and also in our values and spirits.
What a lovely tribute to your mom Audrey.
It sounds like she was a blessing, and passed that on to you…you are a blessing to so many.
I’m thinking of you this first mother’s day without her.
Dearest Valerie, thank you!
lYou captured your Mom perfectly. She is a wonderful example for all of us to emulate–her positive attitude. her deep faith, her unspoken love. As the recipient of some of her sour cream raisin pie, I freely admit that I love it to this day! L. Jannusch
It’s so kind of you to share your thoughts about Mom. Thank you. Your loving words mean a lot to me, especially today. About that sour cream raisin pie, I’m glad you liked it so you didn’t need to pretend you enjoyed it. 🙂
Happy Mother’s Day, I now reside at the Hendricks Minnesota nursing home.
Thank you, Leland. What a delight to hear from you. I hope your are feeling at peace in your “new” home.
Thanks, Audrey. I believe I’m getting accustomed to living here. I found out one surprise I am really happy to have other people to visit with. My wife passed away three years ago. I’ve been living at home alone. Counting the flowers on the wallpaper. That is not a way to stay positive mentally. Blessings to you and yours Leland
Leland, I’m thankful you are feeling home and engaging with others. Again, I’m sorry for the loss of your dear wife.
Happy Mother’s day Audrey. Thank you for this beautiful post about your mothers love for you and your family.
Thank you, Judy. I appreciate your kind words.
I thought so much about all of us who have lost our moms in the past year or so — your tribute is lovely. ❤️
Thank you, Beth Ann. I know you “get it.”
I thought of you and three others in our extended family that lost their mom’s this year! How hard it must be. I’m sorry again for your loss Audrey, our mom’s are so much part of us arent they. I’m glad you have such fond memories of your sweet mom, hold tight to those until you see her again. sending hugs.
Dearest, Jackie, thank you for your love, care and hugs. I know you’re missing your MIL.
How sweet. You only have one mom, but many mothers, if you understand my meaning. My mom is long gone but never gone. Thanks for sharing your thoughts via your words and pictures.
Brian, thank you this thoughtful and caring insight.
Beautiful memories of a life well lived. I’m sure her journals will be a treasure for your family.
Yes, Mom’s journals are most certainly a treasure, a gift.
Thank you for this moving story. This country should thank all the mothers and grandmothers, without them the church would have died years ago. With their wisdom, they not only planted gardens to sustain us, they sowed seeds of faith in our little heads for our salvation. I hope they’re all smiling as they look down on us from Heaven.
Oh, Leland, this is so eloquently stated. Thank you for your beautiful and loving words.